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Thursday, May 30, 2013

How much can an idealist know about the
world and still not be defeated by it?
Consider love: blind love is surely an inferior sort of love—the expression
of the fear that the object of love may not be sufficient to justify it; but
hope, too must face the problem of ignorance.
With too little knowledge, hope may be a delusion; with too much
knowledge, hope may be destroyed. To
some extent, idealism is always a defiance of the facts—but defy too many of
the facts and you court disaster. People
who wish to change the world have a special responsibility to acquaint
themselves with the world, in the manner of scouts or spies. (“Flaking Paint and Blemishes,” The New
Republic, June 10, 2013)

Herein we gain insight to the sin of the spies detailed in
this week’s portion. Moses commands
twelve spies to scout the land of Israel.
Ten bring back a negative report.
“The country that we traversed and scouted is one that devours its
settlers. All the people that we saw in
it are giants…and we looked like grasshoppers to ourselves, and so we must have
looked to them.” (Numbers 13:32-33)

Really? Every single
one of the inhabitants was a giant? And
you were tiny grasshoppers?

The Hasidic master, Menahem Mendel of Kotzk, teaches:

Did the spies lie? Did they make up what they told the
people? Obviously not; they told the people
exactly what they had seen…. The truth
is not necessarily as things appear, but stems from the depths of the heart,
from the sources of one’s faith. Truth
and faith go hand in hand, and a person does not acquire truth easily and by a
superficial glance. What is required is
hard work and effort, wisdom and understanding.
The spies did not work at finding the truth in God’s word.

Two spies return with a positive report. They do not deny the challenges ahead and the
battles that will confront the Israelites.
They are also imbued with confidence and seek to inspire the Israelites
about their mission. These spies were
Joshua and Caleb. “Caleb hushed the
people before Moses and said, ‘Let us by all means go up, and we shall gain
possession of [the land], for we shall surely overcome it.’” (Numbers
13:30) For this reason Joshua and Caleb
are the only people among all the Israelites who were born in Egypt as slaves who
were allowed to cross into the freedom that would be found in the land of
Israel. The people who followed them
across the Jordan River were born in the wilderness and not in slavery. Can a slave ever see freedom? Their eyes could only see giants. Those who only see giants blocking their path can never
truly achieve liberation.

Joshua and Caleb did not offer the people an unrealistic
assessment. They did not suggest an
overly optimistic appraisal. Their
message was the proper mixture of reality and hope. You can only lead a people to a better future
if it is a realistic future. You can
only change the world if you know the world.

I recall a modern example.
Years ago, in March 2002, I was in Israel at a rabbinic convention. It was during the height of the second
intifada and there were daily terrorist bombings in Jerusalem. One morning we gathered to hear Shimon
Peres. The night before the Moment Café
was bombed and eleven people were murdered.
One of the young women who lost her life worked in the Foreign Ministry
with Shimon Peres who was then Foreign Minister. He spoke to us about her life, and her
funeral that he had just returned from, but then turned to his vision for a new
Middle East in which Arab states and Israel would share trade and commerce in a
manner similar to the European Union. I
thought to myself, “Is he blind? How can
we build a new Middle East when suffering daily terrorist attacks?” I want a new Middle East as well. I want a Middle East at peace. My dreams must be tempered by present
realities.

Ideals cannot ignore reality. Then again dreams are how we move
forward. Visions are how we change our
destiny. Allow reality, allow terrorism
and fear, to obscure your ideals and the world will indeed never change. Allow dreams to blind you, so that you only
see visions of perfection and not present threats, and you will never find
security and quiet. Going about our
everyday lives is indeed dependent on being unafraid. Building a better future is secured by continuing
to hold ideals in our hearts.

I turn to Wieseltier’s insights: “The world may thwart our
efforts to improve it, but it cannot thwart our conceptions of it improved; and
that is our advantage over it. We can
always resume the struggle.” I rely on Hasidic intuitions. Truth and faith must go hand in hand!

Thursday, May 23, 2013

An intriguing verse is found in this week’s portion:“The riffraff
in their midst felt a gluttonous craving; and then the Israelites wept and
said, ‘If only we had meat to eat! We
remember the fish that we used to eat free in Egypt, the cucumbers, the melons,
the leeks, the onions, and the garlic. Now our gullets are shriveled. There is nothing at all! Nothing but this
manna to look at!’” (Numbers 11:4-6)

What is so great about cucumbers that would cause people to
weep? Obviously it is not about the
objects themselves but instead a longing for the past, even when it was one of
slavery. We tend to mythologize the
past. As soon as we confront struggles
and challenges with the new direction we have chosen, or for that matter were dragged into, we long
for the past, even when that reality was not in our best interest. How else can we explain the Israelites
craving leeks and onions? I certainly
doubt they were making chicken soup in Egypt!
Now that they are confronting hardships and difficulties they long for
the past—even when it tasted terrible.

This week I discovered another lesson about these
foods. In next week’s portion, the
scouts travel the land of Israel and bring back a report. They speak of the foods of this new land. In the land of Israel there are to be found
for instance grapes, figs and pomegranates.
David Arnow points out that these are perennials. By contrast the foods of Egypt are
annuals. They have to be replanted every
year.

Grapes, figs and pomegranates produce for many years,
although they take several years to mature and bear fruit. They of course require care and nurturing,
but they remain a long-term solution to hunger.
The lesson becomes clear. It was
not only Pharaoh who enslaved the Israelites but also the very foods of
Egypt. These they had to plant year
after year. Still they long for the
familiar. They long for the very tools
by which they were enslaved.

I wonder to what foods are we enslaved. In our modern society where we are far
removed from the processes of planting, growing and harvesting our foods have
we become chained to certain foods?
Would our gullets shrivel without sugar or corn syrup, chicken or steak? There is growing evidence that many of the
foods of modern culture pose health dangers, especially in the quantities that
we eat them, yet we continue to claim that we cannot do without.

I am left wondering.
Are we once again languishing in Egypt, dependent on yearly crops that
do not promise a better long-term future?
Is it possible to look beyond the yearly cycle of planting and harvesting
and instead plan not only for our children but even our great grandchildren’s
future? Can the very foods we eat become
part of a grander dream?

The prophet proclaimed a messianic vision: “And every man shall sit under his grapevine
and fig tree and no one shall terrify him.”
(Micah 4:4)

Friday, May 17, 2013

This week’s Torah portion contains the priestly
blessing. “The Lord spoke to Moses:
Speak to Aaron and his sons: Thus shall you bless the people of Israel. Say to them: The Lord bless you and protect
you! The Lord deal kindly and graciously
with you! The Lord bestow His favor upon
you and grant you peace!” (Numbers
6:22-26)

In ancient times the priests uttered this blessing on a
daily basis. In Sephardic synagogues as
well the priestly blessing is recited during the morning prayers. In Ashkenazi synagogues, however, it is only
recited on Passover, Sukkot and Shavuot and Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. This priestly ritual, known by its Yiddish
name dukhanen, is re-enacted by those who trace their lineage to the ancient priests.

Among those who attend Reform synagogues, this threefold
priestly blessing is associated with the blessing the rabbi offers at weddings,
baby namings and b’nai mitzvah. On these
occasions it is offered not to the Jewish people as a whole but to an
individual or couple.

In its traditional formulation it was a blessing offered for
the Jewish people. “Thus shall you bless
the people of Israel. Say to them…” But the grammar is then incorrect. The “you” of the blessing is in the singular
not the plural. Why would a blessing
directed to “them” be formulated in the singular?

Rabbi Simhah Leib, a Hasidic rebbe, comments: “The priestly
blessing is recited in the singular, because the most important blessing that
the Jewish people can have is unity.
This was attained at Mount Sinai, where our Sages tell us on the verse,
‘and Israel camped there’—and the word for ‘camped’ is in the singular—that
‘they were as one person with one heart.’”

People often mistake unity for agreement. A group can be unified but not always
agree. Disagreements, passionate
debates, are part of any marriage or community. There must, however, be a unity
of purpose and mission. Sometimes I
wonder if the Jewish people have lost this unified vision. Do we continue to share the belief that the
purpose of leading a Jewish life is not only to teach Jewish observance to our
children and our children’s children, to make sure that each and every child
has a bar or bat mitzvah, but instead as Elie Wiesel once said, “to make the
world more human?”

That remains the vision I hold before my eyes. “The mission of the Jewish people has never
been to make the world more Jewish, but to make it more human.” Perhaps this is why unity is our most
important blessing and prayer. Can we
ever fulfill such a grand vision if we remain
divided?

Unity must remain our most fervent prayer. “…May the Lord grant you peace.”

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

One would think that a holiday that offers cheesecake as its
required delicacy would be among our most popular. On Shavuot it is customary to eat dairy foods
so cheesecake and blintzes are its traditional foods.

Shavuot celebrates the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai.
Contained in the Torah are the laws for slaughtering meat. Thus we can only eat dairy until the time we
receive these specific laws. In addition
the Torah is likened to milk and honey.
It is as sweet as honey and as pure as milk. It is for these reasons that we eat dairy.

Still, despite these favorite foods, Shavuot remains the
forgotten holiday. It could not of
course be more important in its message.
So why is it neglected? Perhaps
this is because its primary observances are not found in the home, like the
seder of Passover, but instead in the synagogue. At Shavuot services we read the Ten
Commandments. In addition it is
customary that we stay up all night studying Torah in a Tikkun L’eil
Shavuot.

Sometimes I wonder if this holiday is better suited for
college students with their late night study habits. Purim, with its wild parties and drinking,
and Shavuot with its similar last minute, all night cramming for an exam,
should be most appealing to college age students. Then again the reason for Shavuot’s neglect
can also be found in the Torah. The
Torah does not in fact delineate an exact date for the holiday.

Instead it is calculated in relation to Passover which is
accorded the date of the fourteenth of Nisan.
We are commanded to count seven weeks from Passover to Shavuot. Shavuot’s name means “weeks.” The Omer period connects the freedom from Egypt with the
revelation at Sinai. The Jewish
contention is obvious. The freedom
celebrated on Passover is meaningless if not wedded to the Torah revealed on
Shavuot.

Still, in this lack of a fixed date we discover Shavuot’s
true meaning. One day alone cannot be
assigned to Torah. This must be our
occupation each and every day.

The fulfillment of being granted freedom is only discovered
when married to something greater. We
may be free to do whatever we want and whatever we please (and of course eat
anything we desire). But meaning and
fulfillment are only discovered, and revealed, when tied to something. On Shavuot we receive the answer. Torah is how we discover this meaning.

The holiday of Shavuot begins this evening. It marks the giving of the Torah on Mount
Sinai. Each of the major holidays has a megillah assigned to
them. On Passover we read Song of
Songs. On Sukkot we read from
Ecclesiastes. On Shavuot we read from
the Book of Ruth. This fascinating story
tells the tale of Ruth, a Moabite, who marries into the Israelite family of
Naomi. Sadly their husbands die and so
Naomi urges her to return to her own country.

Ruth refuses and pledges herself to Naomi and her people. “Do not urge me to leave you, to turn back and
not follow you. For wherever you go, I will go; wherever you lodge, I will
lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Where you die, I will die, and there I will
be buried. Thus and more may the Lord do
to me if anything but death parts me from you.” (Ruth 1:16-17)

And with these words Ruth pledges herself not only to her
mother in law but to the Jewish people.
Why is this story assigned to Shavuot?
One reason is that just as the Jewish people choose the Torah so too
does Ruth. Her personal choice is
mirrored in the people’s communal decision to accept the Torah’s privileges and
responsibilities.

There is, however, another reason hidden within the
tale. Ruth is a Moabite. The Moabites were Israel’s enemy. She is therefore the stranger par
excellence. No one can be more distant
from the Jewish people. Yet she still
chooses to wed herself to the Jewish people.
Even more significantly she is welcomed into the communal fold.

When Ruth and Naomi arrive in Bethlehem, one of the city’s
leading citizens, Boaz, treats them with compassion. Boaz lives by the Torah’s command: “When you
reap the harvest in your field and overlook a sheaf in the field, do not turn
back to get it; it shall go to the stranger, the orphan, and the widow—in order
that the Lord your God may bless you in all your undertakings.” (Deuteronomy 24:19) The Book is therefore a test of society’s
ability to live by the commandments of the Torah. Ruth is a stranger. She is an orphan. She is a widow.

These categories represent the powerless in ancient
Israelite society. They lack a
protector. Boaz rushes, without
hesitation and doubt, to Ruth’s defense. “When Ruth got up again to glean, Boaz
gave orders to his workers, ‘You are not only to let her glean among the
sheaves, without interference, but you must also pull some stalks out of the
heaps and leave them for her to glean, and not scold her.’” (Ruth 2:15-16) The fact that Ruth and Boaz are later
married, and live happily ever after, is secondary.

Boaz welcomes the stranger, the orphan and the widow. His act reminds us of our own
obligations. The Book of Ruth calls us once
again to the demands of a life wedded to Torah.
As we celebrate the giving of the Torah we must also ask about its
central obligations. The Book of Ruth
spells out these obligations. Always
reach out to those in need.

Each and every year when we read this book we are asked by
its story if we are living up to these demands.
Are we treating with compassion the weakest and most vulnerable in our
society?

Boaz and Ruth have a child and a measure of joy is
restored in Naomi’s heart. She is told, “Blessed
be the Lord who has not withheld a redeemer from you today!” (Ruth 4:14)And then we read the most unlikely of
epitaphs. Their great grandson is King
David. From David’s line, the tradition
teaches us, the messiah will be called.

The redemption of the world does indeed begin with one act of kindness.

Thursday, May 9, 2013

There is an interesting, and perhaps even strange, verse
that concludes this week’s Torah portion.
Its meaning, and understanding, is dependent on how we translate its
words. “But let them not go inside and
witness the dismantling of the sanctuary, lest they die.” (Numbers 4:20)

In ancient times the Israelites traveled through the
wilderness, carrying with them the portable tabernacle and its sacred
objects. Their sanctuary was
portable. It was the job of certain
members of the Levites to dismantle this tent of meeting as they journeyed from
place to place. In essence they had to
break down camp and pack it up.
Apparently no one else could witness this task. This could diminish the power of the
sanctuary in their eyes. To see it as it
was dismantled could lesson its holiness.

All of us have attended concerts, shows, or even weddings
and b’nai mitzvah. There is a certain
majesty that is of course absent when you see the empty room before it is set
up for the ceremony or performance. The
magic is not yet there. It is even more
disheartening to see all of the trappings of the pomp and circumstance
dismantled, or (and I find this especially disquieting) the leftover food
discarded in trash cans. The excitement
and enthusiasm of the celebration are now behind us. They linger only in our memories. The Torah suggests that to see the sanctuary
taken apart diminishes these memories.

Perhaps this is the message that Jackson Browne sings
about. Sing it with me! “Now the seats are all empty/ Let the roadies take the stage/
Pack it up and tear it down/ They're the first to come and last to leave…” Such appears the plain meaning of the
text.

But the literal translation of the verse offers another
interpretation. The verse is literally
rendered: “Let them not come and look at the sacred objects even for a moment,
lest they die.” Here it is not the
dismantling that causes problems but instead just looking at these sacred
objects. How could looking at an object
lead to death? There must be spiritual
message that we can uncover. How we look
at objects and the meaning we invest in them is now our question.

In our basement are piles of forgotten things. There can be found old toys, discarded
furniture, even computer hard drives.
Over the years we have accumulated too many things. To wander in our basement is to tour our
family’s history, from cribs to toddler beds to now (and years behind schedule)
a new queen size bed. Shira’s bunk bed
was only just given away to our neighbor’s young daughter. (May she enjoy many happy sleepovers
underneath its covers!) We seem to find
it difficult to discard these once precious objects.

We should take counsel from our tradition. Judaism views objects as tools. They do not have meaning in and of
themselves. We invest meaning in
them. An ordinary piece of jewelry
becomes a wedding band, a silver goblet a kiddush cup. How are these ordinary objects transformed
and invested with holiness? It is by our
use. It is how we use them day in and
day out that gives them meaning. It is
also of course how they were used by generations prior to us. In fact our most precious kiddush cup is
rather plain. It is treasured because it
was given to us by Susie’s grandparents who in turn received it from their
grandparents. It is for this reason that
many couples use a grandparent’s wedding band at their wedding ceremonies.

Other times we invest too much meaning in objects. Our children believe that they must have the
latest iPhone or iPad, the best sneakers or lacrosse stick. Is your computer running Windows 8 or perhaps
Mountain Lion? Are you playing
basketball in the sneakers that Lebron James recommends? We are led to believe that our gadgets and
clothing must be the most up to date and contain the latest innovations. Advertisements prod us with suggestions that
we can buy greater meaning, and of course better athletic prowess, by
purchasing ever-newer products. We come
to believe that meaning is immediately seized as soon as we take hold of these
objects. In truth it is always how we
use them. We grant meaning to them.

And here we discover the greater lesson contained in the
Torah portion. When we look at objects,
and fail to see the people grasping them, when we invest life saving or life
altering qualities in this gadget or another, then a spiritual death creeps
into our souls.

We invest meaning in the objects we hold. They can never confer meaning to our lives.

Friday, May 3, 2013

The Torah is quite literal in its understanding of human
events. It proposes the following: if
you do good then you will receive many blessings. If you do bad then evil will befall you. This week’s portion proclaims: “If you follow
My Laws and faithfully observe My commandments…you shall eat your fill of bread
and dwell securely in your land.… But if
you do not obey Me and do not observe all these commandments … I in turn will do this to you: I will wreak misery
upon you—consumption and fever, which cause the eyes to pine and body to
languish…” (Leviticus 26)

This theology does not of course comport with reality. Each of us can name any number of righteous
people whose lives were sadly cut short.
Far too many people who fill their lives with noble pursuits are not
blessed with a fair allotment of years.
We can also name others who never, for example, gave a penny to tzedakah
yet who still live a long, healthy, untroubled life. The equity and justice that the Torah
promises is never apparently realized or matched by our everyday experiences.

Our tradition offers many explanations for this discrepancy
between the Torah’s promises and our observations. I favor the suggestion that what we read in
the Torah is not so much theology but instead a prayer. Who among us would not pray that everything
be perfectly measured and fairly balanced?
I pray that the world and our lives could be measured by such perfect
justice. Such is not our reality. But it remains my prayer.

Yet in one regard the Torah’s literalism appears to match
recent, contemporary experiences. The
Torah also declares: “You shall faithfully observe My laws and all My
regulations, lest the land to which I bring you to settle in vomit you out.”
(Leviticus 20:22) The Torah is of course
speaking in particular about the land of Israel. That land remains the place to which we
lavish the most concern. The Torah
contends that continuing to reside in that land is intimately tied to our
behavior.

Still this phrase has been whirling in my thoughts these
past months. Our experiences of this
past year suggest even more that nature has a temper. My hometown is, for example, once again
besieged by record breaking floods. Our
own Long Island is still struggling to recover from Hurricane Sandy. High school students in the Rockaways only
just returned to their school on Monday.
Why is there still debate?
Scientists agree that many of these changes are caused by global
warming.

We are indeed responsible for these changes. We have failed to live up to the Torah’s
mandate “to till the earth and tend it.” (Genesis 2:15) We are stewards of God’s nature. While Judaism clearly teaches that we can use
nature for our own benefit we also have a responsibility to care for it and
ensure that our children and grandchildren can derive the same benefit. There are not an infinite number of natural
resources to forever be exploited.

We have failed to live up to this challenge. The hurricanes signal our failure as much as
they indicate nature’s fury. Yet there is time to mend our mistakes and
fashion a different future for our descendants.
There are opportunities to renew our commitment to this biblical command
to be stewards of the earth.

Only one time does the Torah state that God will remember
the land. It occurs in this week’s
portion: “Then will I remember My covenant with Jacob; I will remember also My
covenant with Isaac, and also My covenant with Abraham; and I will remember the
land.” (Leviticus 26:42) What prompts
this remembrance by God? It is our
repentance. It is our recognition of our
failures. God is moved by our
repentance. We need only change.

I wonder. Is it
possible that the Torah is correct and that our present reality is the
realization of its prophecy? Is it also
possible that God could be moved by our repentance and that we can once again
live in harmony with the land?

About Me

I am Rabbi Steven Moskowitz, the rabbi of Congregation L'Dor V'Dor, serving Long Island's North Shore. My congregation's services, classes and programs meet at our home, 11 Temple Lane in Oyster Bay. I have been a rabbi since 1991, beginning my career at Manhattan's 92nd Street Y. I am married to Rabbi Susie Moskowitz (Senior Rabbi of Temple Beth Torah in Melville) and the father of two adult children, Shira and Ari. Every Summer I travel to Jerusalem to learn at the Shalom Hartman Institute where I serve as a Senior Rabbinic Fellow. I am also an avid cyclist, swimmer and triathlete.